In Which Our Heroine, Having Witnessed the Wedding, Returns Home

17 May 2004

So very tired. I actually went back to bed after taking Mark to the airport. I can't believe I managed that: usually I'm totally unable.

Anyway, we ran around doing family stuff and wedding stuff and some fun stuff, too. The wedding was filled with family friends and friends who have become family. Good time had by all, or at least by all I talked to. As usual, I didn't manage to take as many pictures as I would have in-retrospect liked, because at heart I am not a photographer; taking pictures of an event is a distraction for me rather than part of the fun. But I did get a few important ones and a few random ones other people might not have. So.

The wedding and reception were both held at Joslyn Castle, which is a turn-of-the-century mansion in Omaha. It had really lovely detailing, lots of stamped crown molding and fixtures like this one.

Here they are with the judge, Kari, Jimmy's cousin Ricky (who was his best man), and Jake (barely visible). Mary's other bridesmaid, her friend Tina, was fuzzy and way off to the side in this picture.

Mary and Jimmy. Awwww. Poor dears -- they'd had about a million pictures by that point, and then Lucy and I wanted just one more. But they were good sports about it.

Kari, me, and Aunt Jenny, focused on the wee Mr. Noah. This is my favorite recent picture. I don't think you could have posed it better.

And here we are, me and my surrogate sisters and Noah. My mom teared up when she saw Mares in her gown. "You're our baby," she said, hugging her tight, "the last of our babies." "Oh, Mom," I said, and Mares said, "Come on now, Deb, you're gonna get me going before the ceremony even starts." Momma said, "A godmother is allowed." And indeed she was. So these are the pictures with the last of their babies and the first of ours.

Noah looks like Jake; there is absolutely no question of that. You don't even have to pull out Jake's baby pictures, because Noah looks like Jake does now, only in baby form. I think he also looks a little like his cousin Kyle, who is 2, though. Maybe not entirely Jake.

Yesterday morning I got to see Mallory, who turned into a full-fledged grown-up somewhere along the line. Mallory was my favorite kid when I taught first grade Sunday School my senior year of high school. (I know teachers aren't supposed to play favorites. Sunday School teachers probably doubly so. But she had her own mind and her own sense of humor when she was 6-turning-7 years old, and I just wanted to kidnap her and take her off to college with me when I left.) And somehow this grown-up Mallory is interested in writing and in liberal arts colleges and in nifty things I can talk enthusiastically with her about. That's pretty darn nifty.

Tiredy tiredy tiredy tired.

Correct me if I'm wrong -- wait, I know I'm not wrong. Okay then. We established at Nuremberg that "I was just following orders" is not a defense. There is such a thing as an illegal order. My grandfather the retired Marine confirms this. I can't believe people are even attempting to use this as a defense, because it just plain isn't one. Just not, not, not.

Also: if you tried to say, "Oh, well, you can't expect anything more of an American soldier than of any other guy with a gun," I know several soldiers and other servicepeople who would want to string you up. (They wouldn't do it, because you can expect more. But they'd want to.) And yet people are complaining about a double standard. Noblesse freakin' oblige, people. Americans have the opportunity to know better. Americans have the opportunity to show what democracy and human rights look like. Whining, "But our enemies aren't so concerned with being good!" is not an argument against evaluating what you're doing. Really: not, not, not.

Further: "The more brutal, the more effective" is not actually a law of military success. Sure, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. But a stable country with a government that respects human rights may be more like a baby bird than like an omelet. Don't assume that the nastiest thing has to be the most successful thing. It's just not true.

Ah well. At least there are married gay people in Massachusetts, and married family members in Omaha, and I got a pecan roll yesterday morning from Wheatfield's. I am not a Platonist, nor am I into total ordering, but let me tell you: this is the form and the pinnacle of pecan rolls, the Wheatfield's pecan roll. My land.

I'm not sure how much I've gotten done today that's been useful. But I've gotten settled back in, gotten rested a bit, etc. Oh! And we found out that my Onie's problem is quite, quite treatable, so hurray for that. We were fearing the worst, and it isn't the worst, so all of a sudden the not-worst looks beautiful by comparison.

Oh yes: and a good Syttendemai to all you Norsk!

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